


What Do I Do (If I Can't Figure It Out)

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Attempts at Humour and Angst, Badly-Written Love Letters, Canon Era, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Oblivious Merlin, Pining Arthur, Romance, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: Merlin has a secret admirer, and no, it can't be Arthur, it could never be Arthur, Arthur would never write love letters toMerlinof all people... would he?(Spoiler: what do you think.)





	What Do I Do (If I Can't Figure It Out)

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=63502#t63502) at [this wonderful meme](https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com)
> 
> yes the title is from an Ariana Grande song bye

Merlin stared down at the note in his hands. It seemed ready to catch on fire any moment from the power of Merlin’s scrutiny and perhaps a tiny bit of his magic.

“Merlin,” Gaius said.

His mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts and questions, Merlin glanced up to see Gaius looking at him expectantly.

“Well?” Gaius asked.

“I don’t know,” Merlin offered weakly. “I don’t know at all.”

“I found it crumpled up outside on the stairs this morning,” Gaius said, sitting down beside Merlin. Merlin shook his head. “I didn’t hear any footsteps so I imagine that it’s been there at least since midnight when we went to sleep.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would—it’s for _me_ , for heaven’s sake.”

“They do say love is blind.”

Merlin pulled a face at Gaius and sighed. “What should I do about this?”

“That isn’t for me to decide.”

“Very helpful, thank you.”

In the end, Merlin decided to do nothing about the note. Even if it had been somewhere Gaius’s eyes had gone to quickly, Merlin clearly hadn’t been supposed to find or read it.

* * *

 

_The way your eyes shine when you smile,_

_the way your lips gleam when you pout,_

_the way you say ‘hullo’,_

_I’m in love with you without a doubt._

~~_oh sod this, I’m rubbish at poetry,_ ~~

~~_but I love you, Merlin, and I wish_ ~~

~~_I had the courage to tell you freely._ ~~

* * *

 

“You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had,” Merlin said as he flung open the curtains to the large window and squinted against the bright sun. Arthur groaned from his four-poster.

“You wouldn’t believe the night _I_ did,” he said.

“Eurgh, don’t want to know about your conquests, don’t tell me.” Merlin said, going over to Arthur’s bed and drawing his blanket off. “But out with it anyway.”

Arthur laughed, silly and open, clearly still half-asleep. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“Was it one of the stable boys? Was it Darius? He’s been waxing lyrical about your jawline for about a month now.”

Arthur snorted. “Wasn’t him. Wasn’t a conquest,” he said, turning over and pressing his face into the cool crevice between his pillows.

Merlin smiled benignly at him until Arthur mumbled something along the lines of _it should have been, though_. Then Merlin took no prisoners.

“Up you get!” Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled him up into a sitting position. Arthur’s beam faded into a glare and he flopped back to the mattress. Merlin clambered onto the bed, untied his neckerchief, and waited until Arthur cracked one eye open at the added weight, then whacked Arthur across the face with it.

He didn’t get away with it, but at least Arthur was wide awake now.

* * *

 

Merlin was on his way to the laundresses from Arthur’s chambers when he came across a mysterious envelope tucked into the crack between two wall blocks. He only saw it because of the yellow-white corner sticking out of the wall, stark against the deep grey. Curiosity got the better of him (those nosy scullery maids were rubbing off on him) and he paused to wrench the cover out one-handed. There was a thick wad of parchment enclosed in the envelope. Merlin could faintly make out lettering on its reverse side.

Merlin glanced shiftily around the empty corridor once. Twice. Then he thought the better of it and tucked the letter into his neckerchief for safekeeping until he had time to himself to peruse it at length.

The laundress at work, Lise, one of Merlin’s friends, winked at him as he nudged open the door to the laundry room with his shoulder and set down near her a basket, heavy with Arthur’s cloaks and breeches, to be washed separately. Lise was one of the laundresses who had a soft spot for Merlin. He might almost have thought she or one of the other literate ones had written the poem the other day, but they’d rather die than use the word _sod_ where others of the non-washerwoman variety could find out.

“Wench,” said Merlin by way of greeting, plopping down beside her and immediately feeling the seat of his breeches dampen. Not to worry, his magic was useful for much more than saving Arthur’s life.

“Knave,” Lise replied, stopping her scrubbing for a moment and playfully batting her eyelashes in Merlin’s direction. Merlin smiled at her knowingly and she laughed, busying herself with foaming clothes again. “Gaius’s ointment for my hands worked wonders, please convey my thanks to him soon.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin said. Lise bumped her shoulder against Merlin. Merlin bumped his back. And because the castle washerwomen were worse busybodies than the scullery maids, Lise plucked the parchment right out from Merlin’s makeshift neckerchief pocket and waved it at him.

“What’s this, then?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, colouring. “I found it stuck in a wall. Give it back.”

“Have you read it? What’s it say?”

Lise was almost as good as Gaius when it came to eyebrow-raising. Merlin pouted, knowing the effect his mouth had on her (she obediently blushed, and in another world Merlin would have been in love with her). Could it be Lise who wrote the poem after all? Should he ask? Wouldn’t she have made a reference to it by now?

“Haven’t, you know how Arthur’s dirty clothes take precedence over my general satisfaction with life.”

“He’s very lucky to have you, ooh, look, it’s got your name on it,” Lise said, cheerfully extracting the parchment paper wad from the envelope and unfolding it, disregarding Merlin’s warning of _if only Arthur knew that, oi, get your sopping hands off my letter!_

Lise was one of the few castle servants that could read, and while she never had much use for literacy in her daily life, she and Merlin had once or twice discussed the exquisite way ink lines curved to form letters that then gathered to make words. She put her reading skill to good use then, reading the single page carefully.

Merlin watched her anxiously. He wouldn’t crowd her personal space unless he was expressly allowed (like he was with Gwen, his partner in crime), and so he wasn’t able to lean and peer over her shoulder to read with her.

“What’s it say?” he asked eventually, when Lise’s hands began trembling. A fortnight ago, she had approached Gaius with roseolar skin and the complaint that the ammonia the washerwomen used as bleach had finally taken its toll on her. Now, Merlin watched her skin, halfway back to its usual pallor. Lise was a really good friend of his. She’d been the one to tell him that he needn’t wash Arthur’s clothes himself unlike Arthur said, and that the way to the kitchens was through the courtyard and behind the rosebush garden, not next to the training grounds and over the beetroot trenches like Arthur had told him.

Lise sniffed and quietly handed the paper to him. “You haven’t read it yet, right?”

Merlin shook his head and was just about to read the letter himself when Lise pitched herself at him and bowled him over.

Merlin’s breath was knocked out of him with a gust as he found himself supine on the cold, wet stone floor with Lise, for some reason, astride him.

“Lise,” Merlin breathed, hands automatically steadying her. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ll lose my chance once you read it,” Lise said, desperately snatching the paper from Merlin’s fingers on her waist and hiding it in his neckerchief again. “You’ll never even look at me again—”

And then she bent down to kiss him, a hand next to Merlin’s head and the other hastily rucking up Merlin’s tunic. Merlin kissed back almost involuntarily, the smell of lavender soap flakes flooding his senses along with the press of Lise’s lips and the electrifying brush of her tongue against his. Lise sighed into his mouth and Merlin winced lightly as a hot tear rolled off her cheeks onto his.

“Lise,” Merlin said, pushing her shoulders up a bit so he could look into her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Please,” Lise said. “Just this once. For a friend who loves you far less than the one who wrote you that letter.”

Merlin hesitated. Ever since his first day as Arthur’s manservant, he hadn’t loved anyone but—he wouldn’t like to kiss anyone but—oh, fuck it, he was never going to get Arthur’s attention anyway. He slowly pulled his hands up Lise’s back.

“I won’t lie with you,” he told Lise, because he wouldn’t like to fuck anyone but—shut up, Merlin.

Lise buried her face in Merlin’s chest and nodded.

“Come on,” Merlin whispered, sitting up and helping her settle in his lap, heart heavy all of a sudden. Lise hung her head and didn’t respond to Merlin’s touch at her chin. Merlin kissed her temple. Her hair was wet and sweaty and smelled less of lavender than the rest of her.

“Hey,” he said, kissing the skin near her ear next. It was soft; the hard detergent the laundresses used never had gone near it.

“I’m sorry,” Lise said, slackening in Merlin’s arms. “I was overcome with emotion and lost control of myself.”

“It’s all right. What does the letter say?”

“I—you should read it, Merlin. Someone out there really, really loves you.” Lise made fists of her hands in the cloth at Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin saw the shame on her face and thought for a long moment.

This time when Merlin tilted her head up, Lise complied, and when Merlin sweetly covered her mouth with his, she shivered and pressed closer.

Lise certainly had nothing to lose. Neither did Merlin. What would one snog matter? Castle servants got up to far worse, even without the excuse of mead or cider to assuage the ignominy.

The door suddenly banged open.

“If I’d known it took you a century to drop off my laundry, Merlin, I’d have— _Merlin._ ”

Merlin shoved Lise off and both got to their feet, but it was too late, Arthur was standing there, stunned, face ashen. Merlin felt inexplicable chagrin run through him.

“Sire,” he began, but was cut off by Arthur.

“Elisabeth.”

“Yes, sire,” Lise said, rigid in her mortified curtsy.

“You’re not paid to cavort with—”

“Sire, it was me, I was the one—” Merlin said, to be ruthlessly talked over once more as Arthur spoke to Lise.

“It is not the castle’s business what you do with your evenings, but when you’re supposed to be doing your _job_ ,” Arthur said, voice rising to a snarl. Lise quaked and said nothing.

Merlin’s chest tightened at the surprising severity of Arthur’s rebuke, having heard tales about how Arthur himself used to invite willing maids into his rooms in broad daylight. He rushed forward and hooked an arm around Arthur’s chest, pulling him out of the laundry room. Contrary to Merlin’s expectations, Arthur let himself be tugged away.

Merlin shut the door behind them. Lise had all but collapsed, sobbing. Merlin bit his lip, and caught Arthur’s eyes falling to his mouth.

“So sorry to have interrupted you,” Arthur sneered. He pushed Merlin’s arm off and strode away without a word. Merlin didn’t follow him.

* * *

 

_Merlin,_

_I’ve taken a huge risk writing this and an ever huger one placing it where I did, not only because there are very few candidates for its author but also because there is every chance you will find this. I haven’t been able to decide whether I want you to. Neither have I decided whether I want you to know who I am._

_There is only one thing I am sure of at the moment: my love for you will be the end of me._

_When I am lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your lovely face in the morning, I thank my stars for such a bright beginning to my day. When I overhear you humming to yourself in the corridor as you amble along, doubtless slacking on your multitude of chores, I am privileged as it is the most pleasing music I could hear. When in the evening your prince berates you loudly as you and he return to his rooms, rue blooms in my heart. If I had the temerity, I would never let go of your waist. Your wit and charm are unmatched and I admire the bravery you possess to stand up to the king despite your station._

_I once saw you give an apple to a weeping child in the castle grounds._

_I once saw you wipe the lady Morgana’s tears in secret after the king forbade her from watching the knights train lest she learn from them._

_I feel hesitant to elaborate upon the depth of my love, as in the event you chance upon this letter, you will surely think of me as someone to be avoided at all costs for fear his perversity and tendency to dog your footsteps cost you your dignity—_

Here Merlin stopped reading and tossed the letter into the fire. He had no use for trifles that cut rifts between him and the people he cared for.

Three days later, Arthur still wouldn’t look at him.

* * *

 

“I’m allowed to kiss people, Arthur,” Merlin said on the fourth night. What else could have caused Arthur to give him the cold shoulder? Merlin hadn’t dropped Arthur’s breakfast even once over the last month. Neither had he accidentally broken any of the links in Arthur’s mail.

“I never forbade you to.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your reputation by way of ruining mine.” Arthur had more than once talked about how a manservant contributed to his master’s repute and how Merlin would bring about Arthur’s demotion to a squire any day now.

Arthur laughed. It was a cruel sound. Merlin cringed.

“Do what you want, Merlin. I’m sure Lise is waiting for you when you leave tonight.”

“She isn’t.”

Lise wouldn’t look at him either. She’d nodded, staccato, when Merlin had tried to apologise for Arthur—“He must have been in a very bad mood that day and he didn’t mean it, you know how he didn’t say anything when Martin and Lucan were caught behind the stables, I’m so sorry, Lise”—and then turned away from him, and that had been the end of three years of friendship.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Undress me,” he said. “And then make yourself scarce.”

Merlin gladly did so.

And from then on Arthur didn’t _not_ look at him, and Merlin would accept that over whatever hell the three days of silence had been.

* * *

 

A giggling scullery maid (Merlin hadn’t forgotten their nosiness at all) pushed a piece of paper at him when he came down to get Arthur’s breakfast.

“It almost got soaked with the dishes last night,” she said. “Good thing Amelia got it, yeah? Wonder why it’s for you?”

Merlin frowned at her. “Because I’m making a wigwam for a goose’s bridle,” he said.

Amelia’s friend scowled at him and returned to her spot scrubbing iron ladles in the kitchen line. Merlin hefted Arthur’s tray all the way to his chambers, skin prickling where the note was pressed between his fingers and the warm wood of the tray.

Arthur was already up and seated at the table when Merlin entered.

“Took you long enough,” he said, and compared to yesterday’s _I don’t really need you around, you know_ and the day before that’s _don’t you have another maid to go tumble?_ , it was almost friendly. Merlin sighed.

“Your bottomless appetite causes me many problems. Ouch,” he said, accidentally catching the tip of his pinky between the tray and the table placing the tray down. Arthur smirked.

“You deserved that.”

“Yes, sire. Wait, do you mind—” Merlin retrieved the square of damp parchment from under the tray. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, then he paled.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what,” Merlin asked absent-mindedly, reading the letter.

“That thing in your hand.”

“It’s a wigwam for a goose’s bridle.” It usually took people a while to understand he was telling them to fuck off.

“ _Merlin_ , you can’t tell the _prince_ to fuck off. What—” Arthur must have seen something of Merlin’s expression even though he was turned away, because he said, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, but there were tears in his eyes as he lit a fresh fire in Arthur’s bedroom and used the paper as kindling.

Arthur didn’t prod further. Merlin almost thanked him for it.

* * *

 

_Merlin,_

_I wish I didn’t have a mind so I couldn’t dream about you. I wish I didn’t have eyes so I couldn’t look out the window and see you every day. I wish I didn’t live in Camelot so you couldn’t entice me with just a breath from your lips. I wish I could focus on my work like I can on your smile. I wish you’d never entered my life. I wish I’d never existed. I wish I were dead so I wouldn’t constantly be reminded of the chance I let slip through my fingers when I began writing these daft letters. I love you. I love you so much that I promise you I won’t ever tell you who I am, because you don’t really know me, you don’t love me and,_

_and by now you probably hate me the way I wish I hated you. It’s all right. I would hate the letter-writer, too. I already do; I hate him, too._

_Yours forever and a year._

* * *

 

Merlin was found, mullered, by Morgana that night, holed up on a deserted staircase’s seventh step.

She and Gwen took him back to his own room, where he vomited piteously until he fell unconscious.

The next morning, when he woke up, Arthur was standing over him, face fraught.

“Take the day off,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Death,” Merlin croaked. Arthur nodded stiffly and turned to leave, but Merlin grabbed his hand. His grasp was so weak that Arthur’s hand slipped out of his instantly, but then Arthur curled his fingers around Merlin’s bony wrist.

“Do you have to go right now?” Merlin asked faintly, unable to concentrate through the noise of the hammers pounding on the inside of his skull.

Something in Arthur eased and he sat down at the edge of Merlin’s bed.

“No,” he said. “Not yet. Go to sleep, Merlin.”

Merlin obeyed, conscious of a warm touch at his hair until his vision faded to black.

He dreamt of sweet roses and the taste of Arthur’s favourite plums, and when he opened his eyes, Arthur’s best cloak had replaced his tattered blanket.

* * *

 

“You’re not okay,” Morgana said. Merlin shuffled his feet.

“I am, my lady,” he said.

“Merlin, don’t lie to me,” Morgana snapped. “I only want to help you.”

“I don’t believe this is something you could help with.”

“I talked to Elisabeth.”

Merlin froze. Morgana looked triumphant. Gwen just looked sorry, but Merlin couldn’t be sure; he couldn’t really see her face as she was behind him, making sure he didn’t make a run for the door.

“She told us what happened,” Gwen said.

“Arthur’s a right prick,” Morgana said. “Why haven’t you left his service yet?”

 _For the simple reason that I don’t want to_ , Merlin thought, but out loud, he said, “Because he’d just come find me and drag me back by the ear if I left.”

“Are you in love with Elisabeth? Do you want to run away with her? We could arrange for the two of you to have a tiny plot of land and a small pension near Ealdor if you wished.”

Merlin appreciated Morgana’s concern, but sometimes she tended go quite overboard.

“Please don’t jump to conclusions,” Merlin said. “I harbour no feelings for her. It was just a kiss, and while her reason was that it was somehow her last chance with me, mine was non-existent.”

“Ah,” Morgana said, drawing up short. “The love letter. She told us about that, too.”

“Do we have to call it that?”

“Do you… have any ideas who might’ve written it?”

“None at all, but I confess I toss all of them in the nearest fire minutes after I get them and try not to think about them afterwards.”

“All of them?” asked Gwen. “There’s been more than one?”

“Three I’ve read,” Merlin said, staring at his shoes. “Seven, if you count three I found at the training grounds yesterday and another under Gwaine’s pallet before I was hauled here by you.”

Morgana shared a look with Gwen. “ _That_ bad of a writer, is he,” she muttered, and looked suspiciously innocent when Merlin peered at her.

“Do you want the letters to stop?” she asked, as if she had that sort of power. Merlin snorted.

“I’d rather have the person who’s writing them tell me face to face and at least give me the opportunity to respond.”

“Is there anyone you’d like to be the letter-writer?”

Merlin’s cheeks grew warm. If Arthur wrote him love letters, they’d probably go something like _Merlin, you’re terribly incompetent at your job and insufferably cheeky, too, but for some reason I put up with you, so there. Do what you will with this information. I don’t care. Whatever. Bye now. Go polish my armour._

“It can’t possibly be the one I want, so it doesn’t matter,” he said.

Morgana rolled her eyes.

* * *

 

“Well, I don’t know how I’ve been pressed into being a messenger for Lady Morgana,” Gaius said, long-suffering, “but she would like me to tell you to go to the grain storage room in the north tower, immediately, at once, pronto, just go _right now_ else you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Merlin dropped the herbs he’d been cutting up for Gaius and ran.

* * *

 

He stopped outside the wooden door, breathless. He’d managed to avoid making footfalls too loud, but he really was no knight, and his stomach hurt with his exertion. He didn’t know _why_ Morgana had forced him to make this trip, but common sense demanded that it be related to Merlin’s love letters. Was he going to find the person who was writing them inside? Merlin knew it was a _he_ ; which meant it could be anyone from Gwaine (who had strenuously denied it and then devoted an entire afternoon to teasing Merlin about his secret admirer) to Leon to, and Merlin shuddered to think this, King Uther himself.

Something like intuition (or maybe it was the common sense from before) told him not to go in yet. Merlin peeked through the cracks in the door.

His heart stopped. His lungs compacted to a single point, and a lump mysteriously appeared in his throat.

For Arthur sat cross-legged on a sack of wheat, quill in his hand and parchment and ink-bottle resting on his thigh.

Oh, no, Merlin was about to cry. Stop, Merlin, no, think about—think about how to—

Merlin quavered with the effort not to simply burst in on Arthur and ruin everything. He waited and watched as Arthur dithered over things to write, writing and crossing out, tearing paper up, growling curses softly, and more often than not holding his head in his hands and keening quietly.

Half an hour later, when Merlin’s knees were shaking and he was dangerously close to throwing all caution to the wind, Arthur recapped the ink bottle, put away his quill, and rolled up the parchment, tossing it aside to lie amongst the barley sacks.

Merlin banged the door open in a passable imitation of Arthur from that fateful day with Lise.

“Hi, Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed, watching Arthur go rigid and his face lose all colour. “What are you doing here?”

“Merlin—get _out—_ you weren’t supposed to—not _now—_ ”

“Oh, look at that, were you writing something, I want to see,” Merlin said blithely as if his heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute, picking up the parchment roll. Arthur made a pained noise in his throat and tried to wrest it out of Merlin’s hands but Merlin had a lifetime of sneaky magic on his side—and so both collapsed away from each other and Merlin retained possession of what was no doubt Arthur’s eighth love letter, Merlin just had to confirm it—

_Dear Merlin,_

_I’m sorry. I think I’ve gone too far. I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable. I’m not very good at expressing my emotions, as you know. I’ve hurt you. That wasn’t ever my intention._

_I’ll stop now. I hope you won’t think too badly of me once you know who I am. Please remain as my manservant._

_Yours, unless you wish otherwise,_

_Arthur_

To his credit, Arthur only looked slightly panicked when Merlin, trembling, pushed him up against the wall; he didn't look panicked at all when Merlin kissed him like his world had been torn down and constructed anew.

* * *

 

Merlin opened his eyes to a piece of paper balanced on the tip of his nose, and Arthur missing from his own rooms.

_Merlin, my_ ~~_annoyance_ ~~ _love,_

_I’ve left to apologise to Elisabeth about our misunderstanding. Will you finally stop teasing me about the storage room fiasco?_

_Arthur_

Merlin jumped out of bed and dashed to Arthur’s desk to scribble down his reply: _Never, you’d love me less for it. Wake me up, I’ll get breakfast._

Then he leapt back into bed and by the time Arthur came back calm and pleased, Merlin was fast asleep with a different piece of paper perched precarious on his face and a mischievous grin ruining his pretence.

Arthur clambered over Merlin and picked the paper up. Snickering, he picked up his old tunic from the bed and waited until Merlin cracked open an eye curiously to whack him across the face.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback welcomed! hope you liked the fill, OP <3


End file.
